Can't Contend
by ichigouniverse
Summary: Justin has no where to go, and Bryce knows it.


(notes: This is just a small little one-shot I wanted to write to kinda demonstrate the control Bryce likes to exude over Justin, and Justin not being able to struggle against it, even though he desperately wants to. Takes place somewhere in season one. There's very mild non-consensual sexual undertones, and I think I want to go further with that, but this is just me testing the waters on this concept. I think I'll be expanding with it, but I just wanted to post this and see what others think. It's been a really long time since I've written seriously, so please excuse how rusty I am! (also I wrote half of this on my phone, so please excuse any improper letter casing etc)

It was a bad night. Everything felt slanted and blurry, and at the same time, everything hurt and stung. Nothing felt right. He was angry and sad, confused and lost. As he sat in the guest house of Bryce Walker, the only place that had ever felt like home, Justin felt as if he didn't belong there. Because he didn't. He belonged exactly nowhere. Justin was drunk, and it was a bad night. His mind wouldn't stop racing, wouldn't stop thinking about every single horrible thing that had ever happened, and making those things into his fault. It morphed and twisted in his mind - it was all his fault. "Fuck!" Glass shattered against a wall, but nothing felt better. The glass could shatter over and over again, but nothing would ever feel better. That didn't stop more glass from shattering, though. The beautiful crash. The sharp, glittering diamonds that personified his grief, his rage. It sparkled under the light as tears breached his eyelids.

"What the fuck are you doing?" The voice tore through space and time, and Justin jumped and whipped around, seeing the vague shape of his former best friend in the doorway of the guest house. Justin couldn't make out his expression, but he was sure it was hard and questioning. He must have heard his rage breaking everything. Justin said nothing. How could he? What he had to say was full of hatred and accusations, piss and vinegar. He couldn't say these things to the only person who sustained him. The only person who had allowed him to exist as a person. So he said nothing. "Listen Justin, you can't just go and break all my shit whenever you're having an episode. I get it, but seriously, man, those glasses aren't cheap." It was such a Bryce Walker thing to say, he almost laughed. "Did you and Jess break up or something?" This time a chuckle escaped from him as he looked away, staring at the destruction he caused. "I know you liked her, but she was no good for you, Justy. You'll find better. You sure as hell deserve better," Bryce fully entered the house, gently closing the door behind him.

Justin turned to look at him again, blurry malice in his expression, "Don't fucking talk about her."

Bryce came closer, studying Justin's face as if the boy hadn't just spoke, "Have you been smoking a fuckton of weed, or have you been crying?" he asked, his voice oddly soft as he reached his arm out toward him, the pad of his thumb brushing against Justin's face to wipe at the moisture. The gesture appealed to two different intense parts of Justin: The first being pure anger and rage; he wanted to take Bryce's hands and break them for touching him, for even thinking he had a right to touch him, or anyone, after what he did to Jessica. The other was the starved desire for any affection from any source, the warmth in the action simultaneously scaring him and leaving him desperate for more, supplying him with confusion and inaction. He did not smack Bryce away, his eyes closing as he swallowed, wanting to scream. He felt disgust for himself, wanting comfort from this poisoned well. Bryce saw nothing of the conflict as he shifted his weight to his right leg and let his arm drop to his side, "You want a hug or something?" he asked with a smirk on his face.

The playful jab kick-started Justin's senses again, turning away as his brows knit together in a mixture of anger and a small amount of hurt. The boy moved away from him, entering the open kitchen and leaning against a counter, his body faced away, "Can you just fuck off? Like, just go back to whatever the fuck you were doing and leave me alone." He muttered, grabbing for the half empty bottle of vodka on the counter next to him. He popped the cap open and haphazardly poured more liquor into a glass that had survived the purge, swaying on his feet as he slung it down his throat, swallowing hard as it burned the inside of his mouth and then his insides.

Bryce was much closer than Justin was expecting, he hadn't heard him approach, and it made him jump when Bryce reached around and grabbed the glass out of his hand, that same smirk on his face as he drained the rest of the alcohol before refilling it, draining it once again, "Jesus, you smell like my grandpa at Thanksgiving. Didn't you just open this bottle? You're gonna drink me dry at this rate," he chuckled before placing the glass in the sink, away from Justin, and it felt like a subtle power-play, as if quietly telling him he wasn't allowed to have anymore. In a moment of defiance, Justin retrieved the whole bottle and put it to his mouth, taking a deep swig from the source before slamming it back down, refusing to submit to Bryce's stupid fucking control grabs. The older boy quirked his eyebrow, looking at him in a new way. Like a challenge. Justin wiped at his mouth with the back of his hand, staring back at him with an expression that read, "fuck you."

Byrce moved in closer, wrapping his hand around the liquor bottle while putting his other hand on the other side of Justin, effectively trapping him between the counter and his body. Justin shifted his weight away from the older boy, pressing the small of his back against the edge of the marble counter as far as he could go, the coldness making him shiver as he looked at Bryce with an apprehensive, confused expression. He had been this close to Bryce before, but never in this mood, and never so shitfaced while Bryce seemed relatively sober. He couldn't figure out the angle in which Bryce was coming from, but the malicious gleam in his eyes made Justin want to jump away to the other side of the room. "Why don't you apologize?" Bryce said in a growl, so close that Justin could feel the heat of his breath.

He swallowed again, looking Bryce in the eyes as he replied, "Fuck you."

Bryce let out a dry chuckle before placing his right hand on Justin's throat, pressing the boy against the counter with his body and moving even closer to his face, applying pressure that made Justin sputter in surprise, "Maybe I will." he said with amusement in his tone. Justin's heart seemed to have stopped as his eyes widened, looking into the dark face of his former friend, not understanding what the fuck was happening or what he even meant by that.

Bryce stared into his eyes, his own dark and menacing, before he removed his hand from Justin's neck and patted his face hard, not exactly a slap, but force behind it that didn't feel playful or in jest. Justin's eyes closed each time his hand made contact with his face, his heart beating so hard he could hardly hear what Bryce was saying, "I'm just fucking with you, Justin. Quit acting like an asshole." Bryce pulled away and snatched the alcohol bottle from the counter and poured it down the sink, shaking his head as he did so. "Why don't you just park your ass on the couch and sleep this off? You're a nasty drunk."

Justin immediately removed himself from his place against the counter and sat down on the leather sofa as Bryce suggested, unsure what that was about, and trying to calm his hammering heart. The look in Bryce's eyes scared the shit out of him, and though he would never admit it, he felt horribly vulnerable under that gaze, and he knew that whatever Bryce wanted to do, he would, and he wouldn't have been able to stop him. He was never able to stop him. The way Bryce could shift from cheerful and playful to menacing and angry always put Justin on edge. He was the worst kind of unpredictable, because it was cold and it was calculating. The warmth and friendliness Bryce emitted was surface level, and Justin knew that all too well. "Yeah, you're right. Sorry." The words tasted like acid on his tongue, having to fucking _apologize_, but if he wanted a warm place to sleep tonight, the words needed to be said. Bryce needed to hear them. He always needed to hear them.

Bryce chucked the bottle in the trash can, "Clean this shit up." He grumbled as he kicked at the shattered remains of the glass with his sneaker before leaving the guest house, slamming the door behind him, making Justin feel a mixture of shame and abandonment. The feelings made his hands shake with anger at himself, disgusted that he had wanted Bryce to stay and, what? Comfort him? He was so alone, he'd take the company of Bryce fucking Walker? Fucking pathetic. Justin dropped his head into his hands and tore at his hair, pulling hard, wanting to punish himself for how fucking weak he was. How weak he'll always be. There was no sleeping this off, but he'd try.


End file.
